1. "Please tell me that you're gonna send Brittany to an orphanage"

                                    

                                          
"Well..." My mum begins, taking Phil's hand in her own before they smile sweetly at each other. It's almost nauseating to watch.

                          
"Well..." I usher my mum on impatiently. She's just dragging this on unnecessarily. The sooner her and her boyfriend move from in front of the television so I can go back to watching this incredibly entertaining episode of Friends - which she had forced me to mute, by the way - the better.
                          
"We're getting married" she announces, an excited grin forming on my mother's face whilst Phil's mouth twists into a matching one. My own falls open in shock.
                          
Married?
                          
That wasn't, erm, the news I was expecting. I thought she was just going to say that she was going to splash out and get us a nice Italian takeaway for tea, or that she was going to finally buy me the pet bunny rabbit I'd craved for since I was six.
                          
Married...
                          
"Married?" I question aloud, checking I'd heard her correctly.
                          
"Yes, married" my mum beams, like she's just found a winning lottery ticket in her purse. I can't say I'm sharing the same enthusiasm.
                          
I mean, do not get me wrong, I'm happy that my mum's happy. And Phil is great - a really nice guy and treats my mum well. He also makes a lot of effort with me and my siblings too and treats us like his own, which I really appreciate.
                          
But Phil's got some serious baggage.
                          
"Oh Claire, that's absolutely amazing! I'm so, so, sooooo happy for you!" A voice squeals obnoxiously from beside me.
                          
The voice belongs to Phil's baggage, which comes in the form of Brittany. Or Brat-tany, as I like to call her. That's Phil's daughter.
                          
And I cannot stand anything about her. She is the epitome of rude, fake, self-centred, manipulative, sly, bitchy, spoiled, bratty - I could go on. I literally hate everything about her, from her ratty hair extensions down to her pedicured toenails. She just gets right under my skin. From the very moment I met her, I knew I wouldn't like her and she certainly didn't prove me wrong.
                          
I genuinely don't understand how someone as lovely as Phil could father the spawn of Satan, but I guess life has a funny way of surprising you.
                          
And now the satan spawnl was going to become my stepsister.
                          
Kill.
                          
Me.
                          
Now.
                          
"Oh, thank you, sweetheart" my mother smiles at her whilst Brittany returns the expression with a fake, sickly-sweet smile of her own.
                          
Brittany is so far up my mother's arse, it's unreal. My mother thinks she's this amazingly sweet, loving, caring girl, totally oblivious to the fact that her boyfriend has fathered a demon. In fact, her own boyfriend is totally oblivious to the fact he's fathered a demon. It's because she acts so fake and innocent and nicey-nicey in front of them all the time, and then as soon as it's just me and her, those devil horns come sprouting out of her head and fire breathes out of her mouth. Not literally, though if she could burn off those godawful hair extensions - which don't even match her real fucking hair properly - it wouldn't be such a bad thing.
                          
"Anyway, we haven't set a date or anything like that yet" my mum continues, the grin never leaving her face, "but you three are both going to be bridesmaids!"
                          
"I've never been a bridesmaid" my ten-year-old sister Millie says happily from her place on the floor, whilst Brittany squeals and jumps up from the sofa, clapping her hands excitedly before throwing her arms around my mum. I scowl. Fucking arselicker.